


On the Ward

by WednesdayGilfillian



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Agnostic POV Character, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Illness, Love and Understanding, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: Just an alternative scene that could have occurred in the hospital, during the Christmas Special, Series Two.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	On the Ward

Patrick felt as though he was looking at the world from underwater. He hadn’t slept. He was moving, now, as though on autopilot, though even that was costing him great effort. He needed to find Shelagh.

He should have said more to her, last night. Should have comforted her. Should have told her that she was not to blame. But the moment he’d laid eyes on Timothy, his world had contracted to the dimensions of an iron lung. He had _not been able_ to do more than sit at his son’s bedside. (Just as, years earlier, he had _not been able_ to do more than sit beside his wife.)

Only in the last hour had Patrick surfaced. Had realised that his heart was aching because it was being tugged two separate ways. Timothy needed him, yes, but Timothy needed Shelagh too. _Patrick_ needed her. Why had he let her leave?

He didn’t know where she’d spent the night. He supposed he had assumed she would use the spare key… But when he returned to change his clothes, he had found her makeshift bed unslept in. And had seen her wedding dress in its box. They were supposed to be getting married.

 _Where would she go?_ was hardly a question. She would go to Nonnatus. But Nonnatus House was cordoned off. Patrick hurried to the shelter instead, and sure enough found the nuns and nurses presiding. But Shelagh was not among them. Nurse Miller, her young face full of sympathy, told him that Shelagh _had_ spent the night, but had left with Sister Julienne not long earlier. Apparently he had just missed them.

So now Patrick returned to the hospital, hoping against hope. That Timothy would recover. That Shelagh would come back to them. And that his heart would not rend in two in the meantime.

He had not walked the path to Timothy’s ward very many times, and yet he already knew the way without thinking. His hand was on the door when, through the glass panel, he saw that his son was not alone.

Patrick’s heart stuttered.

Shelagh was seated in the chair he had occupied, near the boy’s head. Sister Julienne stood beside her. Timothy still appeared to be asleep, or at most barely conscious.

After a moment, the initial flood of love and relief subsided enough that Patrick was able to take in more detail. It was then he noticed the way that Shelagh’s hands were folded, and that her eyes were closed. Sister Julienne’s lips were moving, as she stood in much the same position.

Patrick felt another jolt in the region of his heart.

He didn’t move at all until the two women raised their heads. It was Sister Julienne who caught sight of him in the doorway, and tactfully nudged Shelagh. It tore at Patrick’s heart that the first expression he read on Shelagh’s face when she saw him was uncertainty.

He pushed the door open and crossed the room, as Sister Julienne moved forward.

“Doctor... I’m glad to see you. Shelagh stayed with us at the shelter last night. I shan’t stay and intrude, but please, whatever you need of us, just ask.”  
“Thank you, Sister.” Patrick spoke with all the sincerity he could muster, while his attention was focused on the two pieces of his heart waiting side-by-side a few beds away.

Sister Julienne left, and Patrick turned to face his fiancée as she got to her feet. Shelagh’s face was drawn, as though she too had hardly slept. She looked from the prone figure of Timothy, to the doorway where Sister Julienne had departed, and then nervously to Patrick again.

“Patrick, what you saw… I hope I haven’t overstepped. I know I’m not his mother.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and it was only then that Patrick understood her meaning. The reaction she was afraid of. Waiting for.

“Shelagh…” Patrick reached for both her hands. “I may not be a religious man. But it’s clear even to me that, whatever else prayer is, it’s _very much_ an expression of caring.”

Patrick’s voice was unsteady now. What little composure he had was slipping, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“And _if you think_ ,” he managed, “that to me, that means nothing – if you think it _offends_ – then I must have given you a very wrong impression indeed.”

Shelagh’s eyes had filled with tears as he spoke. She managed to say only “Patrick-” before he pulled her into a rough embrace, not giving a damn if anyone saw.

“ _Thank you for loving him_ ,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, choking back the threat of tears he was unused to. Shelagh’s fingers tightened in the tweed of his jacket. He could feel her own tears on his neck. “ _He is so loved, Patrick_ …”

It was several long moments before they drew apart. When they did, Shelagh cleared her throat, looking in her sleeve for her handkerchief.  
“In fact...he is _so_ loved that Mrs. B sent a cake, and Sister Monica Joan didn’t sample even part of it.”

For a moment they looked at each other. Then they both started to laugh, and cry, again, a touch hysterically. Tears once more rolling down her cheeks, Shelagh finally found her handkerchief.

“Well,” sighed Patrick, as laughter and tears subsided, “I think we could both use a strong cup of tea. And then we’ll sit with Tim together.”  
“Yes.” Shelagh nodded, and took his hand. And as they set off down the corridor, Patrick’s thumb tenderly brushed the ring on her finger.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think. Comments are very welcome!
> 
> Also, feel free to say hi on Tumblr: @wednesdaygilfillian


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